


Don’t fuck with Sol

by sopesicle



Category: bts
Genre: Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Smut, bitch!hoseok, bts - Freeform, idkwherethisisgoinh, illegal street racer, pliable!yoongi, street racer, therewillbeviolence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopesicle/pseuds/sopesicle
Summary: Hoseok loves blood and guts and fucking with people’s minds until they go crazy. Under the pseudo Sol, he likes to race his $37,000 custom motorcycle to get some quick cash and the occasional whore to bring home.He hates Gloss, that stupid bitch that’s too soft for what he does. Yoongi, who doesn’t have a dollar to his name except what he earns from racing. And the occasional nights he needs to stand on street corners in a pretty blue thigh highs for some convenience store chips.Hoseok is out to find why Yoongi is so hard to break for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work for sope week. 
> 
> Be advised that there is prostitution and violence in this fic. Just because Yoongi chooses to be involved in sex work for the money does not mean that he isn’t verbally/physically abused. Please read at your own risk.

“I’m not gonna pay for your fuckin bike” Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head and throwing his racing jacket over his shoulder. Yoongi growls, thinks he’s going to lose his god damn mind if this douche bag doesn’t give him the money. He huffs before he exclaims, “YOU are the one that keyed it! And for wh-“ “because you don’t play fair, gloss,” Hoseok interjects, “How do you expect me to win one of the most highly bid on races of the year if you try to spike my wheels?” he says nonchalantly, tracing the bright new silver streak with his finger. The heat in older man’s chest builds, he’s ready to explode.

The racer takes a deep breath for moral support before grabbing Hoseok by the collar and pushing him against a table in the auto body shop. “Listen Sol, you’re either going to give me the cash to fix my motherfucking bike, or I’m gonna key your esophagus,” he growls, hesitates, then spits on man’s face. 

Hoseok chuckles and wipes the spit off with a gloved hand, smirking as he locks eyes with the man holding him down. “Oh gloss, if you really wanted me like this, you could have just asked” he coos before shoving him away. He rolls his eyes and pulls out a thick wad of cash that makes Yoongi’s mouth water. He keeps a careful eye on the bills, counting every piece of paper that comes in contact with the man’s fingers. Eleven..twelve... thirteen hundreds, seven twenties, and four ones. Enough to make it worth it to find this asshole again later.

“Here,” he mutters, throwing three of the hundreds on the ground to which Yoongi pounces on, afraid they might go away as quick as they come. Hoseok laughs too loud and kicks the stand off his bike, putting on a bright yellow helmet to match his bright yellow bike. Yoongi has always hated the color and the cheesy sun decal sticker. What a fuckin pussy.

Yoongi straightens up and shoves the money in his pocket, safe. Hoseok gives him a last glance before he adds, “Maybe if you get on your knees next time I’ll give you four hundred instead,” he taunts, clicking his tongue once before speeding off into the city. 

Yoongi sighs, fingers the bills in his pocket. It’ll be enough to fix the bike, but also more than enough to get him the new contacts he’s been needing. As much as he wants to fix his flaming red baby, he needs to see to win more money. He shakes his head as he runs a finger over the paint scratch. “Sol.. that dirty son of a bitch.”

————————

Yoongi’s mouth was tingling. 

The pain of his lips stretched so wide he can feel his top lip split was enough to send him over the edge. And not in a good way.

“God what a waste of my fuckin money” the man snarles, thrusting up one more time into Yoongi’s face before grabbing his jaw and throwing him to the ground. He tucks his dick (still wet... gross) back into his pants before he spits at Yoongi’s crumpled frame on the ground. “Wasn’t even worth it if YOU payed ME,” he snarles, slamming the door shut. Yoongi doesn’t move, he doesn’t even flinch. When the next knock on the door comes, he still doesn’t have the energy to look at the next abuser he has to put up with. He’s too tired, too emotionally drained. His cheeks are wet and burning. Why couldn’t he just be successful like his parents had wanted? Why did he have to waste his life away being passed from man to man to get enough money to even ea-

“Gloss?”

Oh fuck that.

Yoongi lifts his head and sees the one person he would probably rather kill himself than be presented to. The older man groans as he rolls over and slowly stands up, stumbling, but catching himself on the railing at the end of the bed. The drugs can only intoxicate him for so long before he loses complete control and it’s coming time to clock out.

“What did you order?” he says tiredly, his voice cracking. Sol clears his throat and steps toward him, noticing every strained muscle so detailed underneath the other racer’s porcelain skin. Besides his rather intense desire to get his dick sucked, he couldn’t possibly make the weak man suffer more than he obviously is.

“Gloss.. gloss are you okay?” he whispers, bending his knees a little to accomadate the man’s shorter stature. “Hey” Hoseok says gently, cupping Yoongi’s cheek. He keens into the touch, relishing how tender it truly is. How soft Sol’s hands are. The thought is only a guise against how much he wants to just fucking end it. He jerks away (even though that’s the last thing prostitutes are supposed to do) and blinks back the tears still prodding at his eyes. “Just tell me what you want! And leave!” he exclaims, like Hoseok is just wasting his time. His softened demeanor, to Yoongi’s surprise, stays unwavered. “How about... I clean you up,” he says softly, stepping back into the uncomfortable bubble that always surrounds the smaller man. Hoseok takes off his gloves (for once in his god damn life) and uses the back of his hand to wipe off the spit and precome of the last customer. Yoongi whimpers, feels like he would like nothing more than for Sol to take care of him tonight. To ice the bruises littering his neck and arms and kiss away the pain in his jaw. But he knows that’s not how real life works. And that’s how Yoongi knows he’s popped too many pills. Because as soon as he reaches for Sol’s hand, it morphs into an ugly, ugly monter. A man who has grabbed Yoongi by the hair and lifts him almost an inch off the ground. “Are you gonna do your fucking job whore?” the man asks, sucking along Yoongi’s pulsepoint until it feel so like he’s biting directly into his esophagus. Yoongi groans lowly, the only sound he can possibly make. And so, he pretends that his delusion of Sol trying to help him, protect him.. had happened. He pretends that everything is okay when the customer fucks him with something of a vengeance before he releases burning liquid lava into his ass before slamming the door closed. Yoongi pretends like he doesn’t mind the way his body quivers when he eventually cleans himself up and takes the money from his pimp. He pretends to feel safe in the dingy hotel room he lives in. Pretends to feel warm and comforted by the thin blankets that cover his frail body. If he won’t pretend, who will do it for him?


	2. He doesn’t ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoseok’s realization ooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the awesome love!! It’s really nice considering it’s my first fic!! Leave my comments on my twt @cherrypiedom

“Cmon joon don’t fucking do this to me right now,” he grumbles, landing another devastating blow to the amateur kickboxer. The younger man’s crumbles as soon as Hoseok’s foot connects with his temple. Namjoon hurriedly comes into the metal cage and checks his pulse. There, definitely. But the poor bitch is out cold. He sighs and carries him away, giving an even more exasperated sigh to the younger man. 

“Couldn’t you do something that doesn’t involve hurting people? Or is that all your good at?”

“Say that again Joon and I might just stop funding your little hobby” Hoseok grins as he begins to peel off the tape keeping his hands stabilized. Namjoon looks up from where he’s half way bent over, dragging the limp man. “Oh haha, you’re so funny,” he deadpans, continuing to move the kickboxer. Even though he liked to put pressure on Namjoon, make him think he would sell him out, Hoseok never would. Sometimes it was a good wake up call for Namjoon when he threatened to take away his coke. He wondered what his friend would do if he wound up after a long day with nothing to inhale. ‘Probably go on a rampage’ Hoseok thought to himself. He wouldn’t use it against Joon, never. Unless... he had to of course. See, here’s the thing. Time and time again, it seemed like nobody could get under Hoseok. He was the best driver in the world, the best liar in the world, the best manipulater in the world. He was pretty good looking too (at least, that’s what all the guys on grindr told him). And yet, there’s still one person he hasn’t gotten control of yet.

.

“Can someone other than a sixty year old man call me a sexy twink?” Yoongi whimpers to himself, tucking his phone away for the trillionth time as his boss walks by. 

“I hope you weren’t on that gay app again,” his manager says lowly, tapping his butt as he walks by. Yoongi fights the urge to regurgitate right there on the spot. He wants to hiss every time his boss comes near him. Always asking for extra help long after his shift at the shop should’ve been over. He hated the way the man’s mouth somehow felt greasy on his. How he always had to obey. Sometimes, Yoongi wonders if the only reason his boss is his boss is because he has some kind of fetish. He tries to forget about the things he’s forced to do though, always chalking it up to whatever pays the bills. 

.

“I really don’t think he’s gonna suck your micro penis even if you gave him a million dollars,” Joons snorts, relishing in how upset hoseok is seeming to get. 

“Oh yeah, real rich Namjoon. As if I didn’t just catch you trying to fuck that whore that counts off before the race. The older man throws his hands up, “There’s a reason they put her in a bikini and stilettos Hoseok. You wouldn’t understand since you’re so busy mentally fucking Gloss,” he spits. Hoseok glances up from his smile, it quickly turning to a thin line. 

“So what if I’ve been mentally fucking him? I’m gonna do it soon anyways. He seems like the type to do it for a pack of crackers,” he drawls, running his fingers over his neck, squeezing lightly. That’s exactly what would get him out of this horrid losing streak to one of the worst racers Seoul had ever seen. He would have to sleep with his rival. Joon looks up from the floor and cocks his head at the other man. “I hope... I hope you’re not serious seok. That could be really fuckin dangerous for you,” he says carefully, as if any wrong word will make Hoseok kick the shit out of him. He knows the damage it’s done to his friend before. He knows he’s being watched. “As if I even fucking care at this point,” he admits, plopping down in front of Namjoon on the floor. “The only thing it could do is give me a bad reputation and I’m too far past that point. If I fuck him well enough, he won’t fuck with me on the asphalt,” he explains, considering how the orginization would take to another scandal. He considers how they didn’t even want to sponsor him because he was gay. Was sleeping with a rival going to hinder him more than it was going to help him? Namjoon seemed to have a knowingly look as Hoseok met his eyes. “You’re going to need to do it quietly,” he tells the man, crossing his arms. Hoseok grins and leans back on his hands, tsking. “You know I get loud,” he snorts as Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Dunno why I ever started helping you seok.”


End file.
